


The Poetry of Longing

by britishmenaredestroyingmylife



Category: British Actor RPF, Real Person Fiction
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - College/University, Erotica, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Professor Tom, Sex, Sexual Content, Shameless Smut, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-12
Updated: 2014-08-12
Packaged: 2018-02-12 21:38:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2125533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/britishmenaredestroyingmylife/pseuds/britishmenaredestroyingmylife





	The Poetry of Longing

I was exhausted. Work had been particularly stressful today and I hadn’t eaten much. But I couldn’t go home yet.

Not that I really wanted to. My apartment was messy and lonely and, with winter rearing its ugly head, cold and dry. In any event, I still had to get to campus for my meeting with my American Poetry I professor. I was already running late when I parked in the student lot; I rushed inside, my high heels skittering on the pavement as a bitter wind blew, seemingly, right through me.

I momentarily wondered how messy my hair and makeup were. I ducked into the ladies’ room and decided I was presentable enough; after all, it was ridiculous for a woman my age to try to impress my professor. He was so young. Or maybe he just seemed young, with that head full of blond curls and big innocent-looking eyes and childish enthusiasm. I actually had no idea how old he was. Maybe late twenties. In any event, he was a good-looking young man, but my girlish impulse to look good for men was something I’d dismissed years ago. It never really got me anywhere in my love life, and it certainly wasn’t any kind of way to move forward professionally, so it wasn’t worth my time. Yet, for whatever reason, he’d reawakened that latent impulse, and I found myself biting my lip and wondering whether I shouldn’t have put on a little concealer as I knocked at his door.

“Come in!”

Right. There was that, too. The British accent. _Ugh._

He looked up at me with a brilliant smile. “Hi, Tessa! All right?”

“Yeah, sorry I’m late, Professor Hiddleston…”

“No, no, you’re fine. This shouldn’t take long, anyway.” He shuffled through some papers and took out a notepad. “I just like to meet with all my students at the end of the semester to get an honest assessment of why they chose this course, what they got out of it, what they would’ve done differently if they were me. Please, have a seat.” He motioned to a cushy armchair next to his desk.

I obeyed, settling into the comfortable chair and willing myself not to doze off right then and there.

“So, Tessa, I know you’re a nontraditional student, and I’ve actually been curious all semester to ask why you elected to take my class. It’s a bit of an unusual choice for people who are working full-time and taking evening classes.”

“Well,” I said, clearing my throat. “I’m trying to get my Master’s in Business Administration so I can move forward in my career, and to be honest the constant barrage of management techniques and economic theories was getting a bit dry, so I wanted to change it up a bit with my elective.”

“Understandable. What drew you to American Poetry I?”

My brows knit as I tried to recall my thought process. “Well… I guess I thought… I mean, I’ve always liked poetry, and I wanted to learn more about it, so…”

“And do you feel the course satisfied that need?”

“Um… yes and no.”

“Would you mind elaborating?”

“Sure.” I took a deep breath. No point in being dishonest. “Well, as someone who really loves poetry, I guess I just didn’t realize how much the course would consist of analyzing it. I think I was hoping to be exposed to a wider variety of poets and broaden my horizons a bit, and while we did do some of that throughout the semester, so much of our time was devoted to analysis that it actually wound up taking out some of the simple joy I had in reading poetry. If that makes sense.”

He smiled. “It does. And it’s not the first time I’ve heard that.”

“It’s just my opinion.”

“It’s perfectly valid. Typically poetry courses do require extensive analysis, but since this is a 100-level course, I’ve always tried to keep it a bit broader.”

“Right. I mean, I did enjoy the class, I don’t want you to get the wrong idea…” I crossed my legs. _Why am I nervous_? “… but, you know. You’re asking for honest feedback, so I’m giving it to you.”

He laughed. “I really appreciate it. Well, that’s really all I need, I think. I was curious, though… well, about a few things with you. Do you have a few extra minutes?”

I settled into the chair. “Honestly, I’d welcome a few extra minutes, it’s nice and warm in here.”

He sat back in his chair and grinned. “Do you mind if I ask why you’re going back for your M.B.A.?”

I exhaled through my teeth, considering my answer. “Well, like I said, it’s a matter of wanting to move ahead. I’ve been in the same position at my corporation for five years now. Before that, I was moving up the ranks pretty quickly, but now they’re saying I need an M.B.A. in order to move any further.” I sighed as I recalled the conversation. I’d been with the company for fifteen years and apparently that wasn’t enough to prove I was up to the task of a management position.

“Um… please forgive me, this is a personal question and you don’t have to answer… are you married?”

“I was.” I stared down at my naked left hand. “He passed away. Years ago. We were young. He was sick.”

“Oh. I’m sorry to hear that.” He leaned closer, his forearms resting on his thighs. “That must’ve been extremely difficult for you.”

“It was.”

“No children?”

“No.” That familiar tight ache in my chest was returning and I smiled at him. “Sorry… we should probably change the subject.”

“Right. I’m so sorry.”

“No… you’re fine.” I leaned against the arm of the chair. I felt safe here, somehow, and I didn’t want to leave. “Who’s your favorite poet?”

He thought it over for a moment. “Difficult to say. I guess the usual ones, Shakespeare, Keats.”

“Modern?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know that I have a favorite. They’re all gifted in their own way. Whitman’s wonderful. Eliot. You’re partial to… hang on…” His eyes flickered to the ceiling as though he were retrieving a memory. “William Carlos Williams, right?”

I nodded. “Yes. Very much so.”

“What’s your favorite poem?”

I pursed my lips. “It’s actually not Williams.”

“Which is it?”

I cleared my throat and started to recite, the words as familiar as my own name.

_You know the parlor trick.  
Wrap your arms around your own body  
and from the back it looks like  
someone is embracing you,  
her hands grasping your shirt,  
her fingernails teasing your neck.  
From the front it is another story.  
You never looked so alone,  
your crossed elbows and screwy grin.  
You could be waiting for a tailor  
to fit you with a straight jacket,  
one that would hold you really tight. _

His eyes were locked on mine. “Billy Collins. ‘Embrace.’”

“Yes.”

“He’s wonderful.”

I looked down at my hands. “He’s another one of my favorites.”

“That particular poem… well. It’s an interesting choice.”

“I relate to it,” I murmured. Then I realized how that sounded. “Well, that is to say, I mean…”

He smiled. “Tessa, it’s fine. I don’t take that to mean you’re waiting to be fitted for a straitjacket.”

“I just… I don’t know. I miss my husband every now and then. But I know he’s not coming back. I think now I just miss the intimacy.” Again I bit my tongue. “Not the – I mean, not just the physical intimacy, that is to say, I miss…”

He nodded. “It’s okay. You don’t have to explain. I understand.”

I hesitated before I asked my next question. “But… what about you? Wife? Girlfriend?”

“No.”

“… boyfriend?”

He gave me a resigned smile. “No.”

I allowed my gaze to meander around his office. I still didn’t want to leave. “What’s your favorite poem, then?”

He chuckled. “It changes. Lately I’ve been partial to e.e. cummings’ ‘May I Feel Said He.’”

I raised my eyebrows. “A bit racy.”

“It’s sensual. Seductive. Well, sometimes poetry can be like a Rorschach test, right?” I suddenly realized he had been inching his rolling chair closer to mine; I noticed because he was now close enough to lean his head on the back of my armchair. “You hear what you want to hear and see what you want to see.”

Tentatively, I leaned toward him and rested my head near his. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been this physically close to someone, and I didn’t want to let it end.

“I think poetry makes us realize how much we want another person to accept us, totally, for who we are.”

I let out a long sigh and closed my eyes. “I haven’t thought like that in a long time.”

“Maybe you should.” His fingers caressed my cheek and gently turned my face towards his. He lowered his lips to mine and kissed me softly. I closed my eyes and felt myself melt into him, deepening the kiss and running my fingers through his hair.

_His hair… those golden curls…_

My eyes snapped back open and I pulled away, alarmed.

“What is it?”

“What are we doing?”

His brow furrowed. “Tessa, I’m so sorry, I thought… that is…” He looked at the floor. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have kissed you.”

“No. I mean… _why_ did you kiss me?”

He looked confused. “What do you mean, why? You’re an intelligent, beautiful woman. I’ve had a crush on you for the better part of the semester. To be honest, I thought it was… pretty obvious.”

It was my turn to look confused. “Are you kidding? You’re… I mean… aren’t I a bit old for you?”

He laughed. “Seriously? You think I care about that? Tessa, this might sound strange, but I’ve never been one for girls my age. That’s not to say they’re all bad, but the ones I’ve met… they don’t… I don’t know. They don’t seem to feel things the way I do.” He adjusted his button-down shirt and stared at the floor. “I’ve experienced loss, too, you know.”

I tucked my legs under me and leaned in. “Tell me.”

His fingers flexed and scraped over his knees. “I was engaged once. But she died. Car crash.”

I exhaled slowly. “Oh, I’m… I’m so sorry.”

“It was years ago,” he murmured.

"You must’ve been quite young, too."

"Yes." His eyes flickered to mine. “I knew there was something, with you. I don’t know how I knew, I just… did.”

His eyes met mine and we shared a moment of silent understanding. Suddenly I leaned forward and pressed my lips to his. There was only a moment of surprise before he kissed me back, running his hands up and down my back and kneading the flesh there. I cupped his cheek and parted my lips to allow his tongue to explore; he let out a soft grunt as he pulled me closer.

"Oh, Tessa, I’ve been wanting this for a long time…"

"Kiss me again, don’t stop, please," I whispered, and he obeyed. He kissed down my jawline, his mouth pausing right at the top of my neck to suck.

Then, without warning, he stopped. “Wait… I… hang on.” He stood up and looked around his tiny, cramped office. Then he looked at me. “The lounge is empty this time of night.”

I gave him a half-smile. “Then why don’t you take me there… Professor?”

“Tom. Please call me Tom.” He pulled me to my feet and wrapped me in a tight embrace. “I already submitted final grades. I’m not your professor anymore.”

“What are you, then… Tom?” I whispered.

“Whatever you’ll let me be.” He kissed me hard, ravaging my lips before pulling me out the door and down the hall.

It was a Friday in winter, so the building was nearly deserted. He pulled me into a smallish room off the lobby which smelled of coffee and dust. Bookshelves lined the wall and two old couches nestled perpendicular to each other in the corner. He locked the door behind us and guided me over to the larger of the couches.

“Are you tired?” he said.

I was slightly taken aback by the question. “… yes.”

“Then lie down. I’ll take care of you.” He ran his hands over my shoulders and I gave a little shiver. I lay down on the couch, which despite its age was warm and comfortable, and kicked off my heels. He ran his eyes up and down my body. “You’re really beautiful, Tessa.”

I couldn’t meet his gaze. “Stop.”

He kneeled on the floor and raised my chin so that we were face-to-face. “You are. Do you know that?”

“I’m not beautiful,” I whispered.

“You are,” he replied again. “You’re so beautiful.” He kissed me and ran a hand through my hair while the other massaged the back of my neck.

“Tom,” I murmured.

“I love hearing you say my name,” he whispered, pressing his forehead into mine. I ran a hand down his face.

“ _Please, Tom._ ”

He kissed me one last time before standing and walking over to the other end of the couch. He kneeled at my feet and started massaging them, his big, callused fingers kneading and rolling. I let out a sigh of relief as I felt the tension of the day start to dissolve at his hands. He leaned over and spread my legs, kissing up each one in turn. I felt the ache between my thighs start to intensify and I shifted nervously; it had been so long since anyone had touched me like this, since anyone had wanted me like this, and I was still struggling to process it when he slid his hands up my skirt and hooked his fingers into my panties. He pulled them down and off, slowly, before placing them in his pocket with a smile. He started to push my skirt upwards, then paused.

“ _May I feel_?”

I gave a soft laugh. “I’ll squeal…”

“Just once…”

“It’s fun – _ah_!” He had chosen that moment to slide a long finger through my outer folds, coating it in my arousal before bringing it to his lips and sucking.

“You taste delicious, Tessa.”

“That’s not in the poem,” I whispered. “But then… neither is this.”

I sat up and unzipped my skirt, trembling slightly as I pushed it down my bare lower half before throwing it on the floor. His tongue darted out to wet his lips as he stared at my sex. I then unbuttoned my blouse and it joined the skirt, along with my bra a moment later. I sat there, shivering from a combination of nerves and cold, completely exposed to another human being for the first time since my husband had died.

His breathing was shallow as he feasted his eyes on my naked body.

“Tom,” I murmured. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

I could see an unfamiliar fire burning in his eyes as they locked on mine. He growled and dove forward, yanking my legs over his shoulders as he buried his face in my cunt. I let out a shocked squeal as he nuzzled my clit and thrust his tongue into my folds, flicking it inside me. I reached down and ran both hands through his curls as he twisted his tongue as deep as he could, and I let out a soft moan. Suddenly I felt his fingers curling around mine. He took one of my hands and held it at my side, squeezing every so often as he moved upwards to lap at my clit. My hips bucked of their own accord and I realized I was whispering a steady stream of profanity interlaced with his name.

He was tracing unreadable patterns on my clit with his tongue, driving me to the brink of insanity. He still held my left hand, his fingers entwined tightly with mine as I held on for dear life; my right hand was now tangled in his curls, pushing his face harder into me as I sought my release. He drew the hardened bud into his mouth and began sucking, hard, and my back arched as I felt the pleasure curling in my pelvis. He grazed his teeth across it and I fell into the abyss, my body helplessly convulsing with ecstasy. He hummed against me as he began to gently kiss up my belly. I sat up abruptly, droplets of sweat running down my face as I looked down at him.

He gave me a mischievous half-smile as he sat back on his knees and started unbuttoning his shirt. He let it fall away as I admired his lean torso and dark nipples. He proceeded to kick off his shoes and socks and shuck his pants, leaving them in a heap next to my clothes on the floor. The moment he was divested of his clothes I grabbed him by the shoulders and pulled him on top of me, running my hands across his pecs and around to his back as I kissed him desperately. I felt his erection press into my leg and I gasped at the size of it; I broke the kiss to glance down and saw it was long, thick, and veiny – much bigger than anything I’d ever seen before in person.

Before I had a chance to say anything, he pressed his lips to mine again and began working his fingers inside me, probing and stretching me. He curled one finger and gently tapped against my G-spot, making me gasp and sending a fresh wave of arousal down to my core.

“Are you ready?” he asked softly.

“Yes,” I breathed.

He positioned himself at my entrance and began to push in, very slowly. It had been so long that the sensation felt almost completely foreign; I wrapped my legs around his hips and he let out a quiet moan. He kept kissing me, sucking at my neck and shoulder as he continued inching in, and I could smell our sweat and arousal intermingling in the swirling, dusty air around us. I brushed my fingernails down his back and he gave a little shudder, and then he was almost fully ensconced within me, lying on top of me and breathing hard. I hooked my ankles together and drew him in as tightly as I could, winding my arms around his back as he murmured my name into my skin.

He ran one hand up my thigh and gripped it as he began grinding his hips into mine. I hadn’t felt so much, physically or emotionally, in what felt like a lifetime, and I kissed him with everything I had in me. He kissed back like a man starving, swiveling his pelvis and sliding in and out of me as we swallowed each other’s moans. He gave a soft grunt as I raked my nails down his back, urging him wordlessly to go faster. He obliged, thrusting forward with new vigor, the weight and warmth of his body overwhelming me. The couch squeaked in protest as I bucked my hips against him, matching his rhythm. Rivulets of sweat streamed off his brow and his damp hair stuck to his cheeks as he closed his eyes and pistoned his hips into me harder. I was close, so close, _so close so close so close_ …

I gasped and cried out as my second orgasm crashed into me. My cunt contracted hard and he gave a moan as he lost control, slamming forward one last time and emptying himself into me. We were both shaking, our sweat-slicked bodies seemingly glued together as he rested his head on my collarbone and planted a gentle kiss there.

“You’re divine,” he murmured.

“You are mine,” I replied, smiling.


End file.
